


My Scarlet Letter

by RinAsami



Category: Original Work
Genre: Administrative Assistants, Career Change, Job aggrivation, Original Poetry - Freeform, Other, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinAsami/pseuds/RinAsami
Summary: Who knew that the job originally meant to be "a foot in the door" would end up pigeonholing you into a thankless neverending cesspool of poor bosses and nasty coworkers.





	My Scarlet Letter

**Author's Note:**

> A poem I wrote for my blog/forum, A for Assistant. Being stuck in a thankless field like "the pink ghetto" really gets to you at times.
> 
> I'm not really into poetry but this is something I came up with while thinking about how stuck I feel in a "career" field that I cannot get out of. I'm trying to expand my horizons and continue to learn and write stories that hopefully can dig me out of this rut one day. I feel for anyone that is stuck in an unfulfilling job and I wish you all luck and happiness--we all deserve some positivity.

 

* * *

 

I can do many things.

I am not stupid or incapable of doing a task greater than typing a few lines on a screen.  
I have a rich life outside of here, but you’d never know it.  
I love to learn, anything really—from how to code a website to studying a new language to fine-tuning a novel.  
But, you don’t see that, do you?  
You don’t see beyond the description on a piece of paper, despite how I yearn for something meaningful.  
I beg for more responsibility, I throw my heart into every spreadsheet and every memo, I give more than I should.  
But it falls on deaf ears.  
I get more of the same. I get others’ work instead—the unending drudgery.

For years I produce excellent work, better than my predecessors, and yet I get no thanks—not even a nod in my direction.  
But a mistake? Make one mistake and it is remembered for all time—previous accolades are suddenly lost.  
You only get noticed for your errors—it’s the only time the boss acknowledges the work you do.

I want out. I dream of something better.  
But I can’t do any other things—my resume says so.  
The log of my past is all that matters, is all that is seen.  
I’ve done this kind of thing once, that is all that was needed to paint myself into a miserable corner.  
You see, when you are labeled a secretary, receptionist, office clerk, or administrative assistant you cease to be anything more and you can never crawl out of that hole.  
Try if you want.  
Take a few classes. Earn a degree. Rewrite your resume.  
But it is still there. Your entire career encompassed by a few short titles.  
It doesn’t matter the grandeur of your responsibilities or how much you helped the company soar.  
You are an assistant. Did you think any more lines on your resume would help?

I should have known better.  
A foot in the door? What a crock.  
I am cursed with that letter that encompasses every job title.  
I thought that beautiful “A” meant astounding, auspicious, or admired.  
But no, that A on my resume—on my chest—means assistant.  
A for assistant. No more, no less.  
It is my scarlet letter that seems impossible to shed.

© 2018 RinAsami

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Just a note, this piece is not meant to offend anyone. I'm sure there are many out there who love their job in a similar field/position and cannot relate to this poem whatsoever. To them, I say, hell yeah and keep kicking ass. This poem just reflects how I feel over many years of being told I have too much experience, not enough, or not the right kind to move into something else. Now I am not even sure I want to work for someone else to help them get rich while I get pennies. We'll see what the future holds. :)


End file.
